accessibility.com.au - Travelling Beyond The Front Gate By Matt Laffan

TASMANIA AND CRADLE MOUNTAIN

In planning any sort of travel the devil is in the detail, especially when one has a disability. The devil of Tassie is the lack of relevant detail available. As a semi-independent traveller confined to an electric wheelchair I have a standard need-to-know checklist (a) accessible accommodation; (b) accessible transport; (c) nursing support; (d) accessible recreational activities, including restaurants and venues.

I was intent on spending three nights in Tasmania. Two in Hobart and one in Cradle Mountain.

I was visiting an old friend, Caroline, who, being a local, was able to research the subject for me. However, her plaintiff calls to representative organisations and groups on the subject proved frustrating. The only accessible vehicles available were taxis and one or two vans for hire at prices that were too expensive. Accommodation was easier, as I settled for comfort and convenience in the city centre at the Grand Chancellor, Hobart. And the nursing provided by Independent Health Care Service Pty Ltd, an organisation which has people on call for personal and nursing care needs.

The hotel was fantastic. They had a wonderfully accessible bathroom and the management and staff were accommodating in every way required.

Caroline met me at the airport and spotted me and my chair, as it was being reassembled, by the baggage conveyor belt. After which we strolled towards the vehicle she had commandeered for my stay, a Kombi van equipped with a disco ball above the dashboard and cushions adorning the seats in the style of hippy love me daze.

A traveller such as me relies on the gestures of others, no matter how small and large, to assist in making difficult things simple. Tasmania proved to have an abundance of good people. Such as the group of fellows I saw standing by the Kombi at the airport. I asked them, with a rye smile, whether they were feeling lucky and strong.

Their curious expressions matched their cautious agreement on both counts. "Right then", I said, "You blokes have the job of throwing this here wheelchair into the van."

And that they did, after Caroline just as easily swung me into the front cabin.

My knowledge of Van Diemans Land was based upon a basic appreciation of Australian history and the fact we land lubbing mainlanders regard Hobart as that place where 'the boat race' finishes. Therefore I found Hobart to be smaller than I had imagined; far more a fishing village than I had thought a capital city could remain these days.

Salamenca, a stretch of sandstone buildings near the wharf housing cafes, restaurants and offices, is a beautiful stretch of culinary adventures.

I had breakfasts at the Retro Café, a cosy spot in which one could easily lose a day by drinking tea and coffee, eating muffins and watching the locals at work and play. And I had dinner one night in the Italian restaurant Maldini. Looking up at the walls within the building one could make out the convict markings against the sandstone. The romantic notions of the moment were given a sobering appreciation of how difficult and cruel things must have been. But the warm, bright, intelligent faces of the diners, and the salty sea flavours of my mariana risotto swiftly swept such sad thoughts aside.

Hobart, from where I wheeled, was easy to get around. Like my home of Sydney things were not perfect, but largely accessible. The disappointing aspect was the lack of access to the shops, cafes and restaurants in Salemenca. Without the aid of strong arms and backs outside my own friends, there was simply no way of getting in. Or out, once one was in. This lack of sophistication is not isolated to Hobart, shared by cities and regions throughout Australia. The tourism moguls of Hobart must not underestimate the money to be made from travellers with disabilities.

During my winter stay the four seasons squeezed themselves into each crowded day without much trouble. But the cold winter was strangely comforting. Most of us hug the coastline of this large continent, and there is relatively little climactic change to our seasons. But at Saturday's Salemenca Markets folks were wrapped up in scarves, gloves, beanies and coats. The tarot card and palm readers were tucked in between the organic fruit and veg stalls, whispering their secrets while buskers sang and played. The competing aromas of the woodwork wares and the fresh flowers drifted between the stalls for local honey and handmade candles. It was a market that revealed a cottage industry hard at work holding true to a Tasmanian theme of local produce and celebrating the natural beauty of its island state.

The journey to and from Cradle Mountain was a wonderful visual experience. My planned scenic flight around the coast had to be cancelled because of cloud cover, but the road trip provided a spectacular vista. We drove through Deloraine and past the Great Lakes near Miena taking in the breath taking beauty of the rugged hinterland. As well as passing through the rural towns, such as Perth, so that one could see the untamed and tamed land in a days drive. The sunsets, casting long shadows upon the rock face, gave heather colouring to the landscape that allowed for living Monet moments which are often best experienced rather than explained.

At Cradle Mountain we stayed at one of the lodges, Cradle Mountain Lodge. The access into the main body of the lodge and the dining room and bar and log fire lounge was easy. The "accessible cabin" however was not so, as the bath had a step over it and it was too cramped for some chairs to access. Astute questioning before again proved a must.

The restaurant was fabulous. I had an evening meal of marinated wallaby that was tender and full of wonderful flavours that went well with the local beverage. Later by the open fireplace I was cornered by a fly-fisherman who insisted I too could partake in the art of the angler. Aided by a healthy quota of whisky and a love for his sport the fisherman vowed that with waders, floaties, gortex and the rod and reel in my insecure hands fly-fishing was a possibility for me too. Despite the romantic notion, stepping out into the cold moist night on the way back to our cabin I noted that I prefer my trout already caught and cooked and such adventures are best left to other able bodied and disabled folks.

Nevertheless my lack of angling adventure did not preclude me from enjoying The Enchanted Walk the next day. Although there are in total 30 steps along the walk, the distance I could travel enabled me the opportunity to see plenty of things. The path is close by the lodge and was easily negotiated by me in the electric wheelchair. It took me through a winding path with a waratah, deciduous beech and button grass among the ferns, trees and the rapids that captured my thoughts. Even a wallaby gazed in my carnivorous direction, fortunately it did not sense my guilt and bounded off bemused.

The opportunity to experience Tasmania all too briefly left a serious desire to return. However, next time I will stay longer.

Aware as I am now that someone with a disability can visit Tasmania, I encourage others to follow my lead. One can push for access as much through being seen as being heard, and if ever there was a State that should be seen, this is it. An escape to Hobart enhances the old adage that the natural things in life truly are the best. And its best remembered that they are there to be enjoyed by all of us, naturally.

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